


How Far We've Come

by bravado



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Sex, Comeplay, M/M, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravado/pseuds/bravado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ian tells Mickey to hold onto something he doesn’t really expect Mickey to co-operate.</p><p>At first he doesn’t, grouching back something about how he can take it like a fucking man, Gallagher. Of course, that only makes it sweeter when Mickey’s hand flies out to cling to the metal shelving as Ian pushes into him, Mickey’s hips jerking back as he bites out a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Far We've Come

**Author's Note:**

> A friend on tumblr sent me this prompt: Ian/Mickey - Learning what the other likes sexually, but it got away from me a bit. This is my first fic for Shameless, so naturally it had to be shameless smut. Comments make my day, so please leave some!

When Ian tells Mickey to hold onto something he doesn’t really expect Mickey to co-operate.

At first he doesn’t, grouching back something about how he _can take it like a fucking man, Gallagher_. Of course, that only makes it sweeter when Mickey’s hand flies out to cling to the metal shelving as Ian pushes into him, Mickey’s hips jerking back as he bites out a curse.

Ian feels himself smirking despite the fact that he’s reeling from Monica’s return, eyes still a little puffy. So he fucks Mickey a bit harder than usual, focuses on the roughness of Mickey’s sweater and the sounds of his breathy little grunts, the way his hips push back against Ian’s.

He doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until he’s done it, one hand curving around Mickey’s bruised, tattooed knuckles. Ian’s hips stutter and he’s expecting an elbow to the face any second, but it never comes. Instead Mickey lets out a low grunt and a ‘ _fuck’_ Ian’s not sure he was meant to hear.

When Kash finds them Mickey bolts, swearing a blue streak out of the store. Despite his near nakedness, Ian feels the cold most keenly against his palm.

 

* * *

 

The Ben-Wa beads are a surprise, to say the least.

Huge and heavy in Ian's hands, they seem like a joke at first, like Mickey is playing some twisted sort of gay chicken. "How is that fun for me?" Ian asks, because what else do you say when your repressed, sort-of maybe boyfriend who won't even fuck you face to face hands you giant anal beads?

Mickey smirks, but surprisingly it isn't in relief. Ian wonders, as he pushes into the tight, perfect heat of Mickey's body, if maybe Mickey was serious. Maybe, Ian lets himself hope, Mickey wants to try something new. Ian's all for it. Not necessarily the goddamn giant's rosary, but maybe something smaller, if Mickey will let him. The low, breathy grunts Mickey lets out as Ian slowly thrusts into him only encourage the train of thought, and soon Ian’s imagining everything he wants to try on Mickey, everything he wants to do with him and to him.

Ian doesn't get to think about it for long, and then memories of blood and pistol-whipping keep him from thinking about it for longer.

 

* * *

 

Mickey beats the crap out of him.

Mickey kisses him.

The bruising along the side of Ian's face hurts like a bitch, and his ribs burn when Mickey clutches at his side. Still, Mickey kisses him with gripping hands and a desperate mouth, so Ian gives it all back. He bites Mickey's lip and lets himself be dragged towards another room, only allows Mickey to pull away to tear off their clothes. Ian never cared much for suits, preferred guys in tight singlets with messy hair. He doesn't think about why.

Mickey's drawing him back in, guiding them to a narrow table that he bends himself over, ass pressed close to Ian's pelvis. They're still wearing boxers, so Ian shoves Mickey's down and kneels. Above him Mickey makes an impatient noise, tells Ian to _get in him already_ , but Ian ignores it. Instead he bites down sharply on Mickey's uninjured ass cheek, licks at the red mark on his pale skin.

Mickey freezes.

They've never done this before; it's  _too gay_  for Mickey. He has no qualms about Ian putting his dick up his ass, or blowing Ian sloppily under the bleachers, but rimming? _Too fucking gay._

Ian runs his tongue from Mickey's balls to his tailbone, and the shocked, needy noise that erupts from Mickey's throat feels like revenge. He laps at Mickey's hole, presses his tongue wetly to his perineum and relishes in every gasping whine it draws from him. The grip he has on Mickey's ass is too tight, will probably leave bruises, but Mickey doesn't once complain. When Ian presses his mouth to Mickey's hole and sucks there's sudden movement above him, and despite anticipating the hit Ian doesn't pull back.

The impact never comes. 

Instead Mickey's threading twitching fingers through Ian's too short hair, breath hitching as he tries desperately to clutch at the back of Ian's head. It feels almost like an apology, but Ian pushes that thought from his mind, slips a finger into his mouth and then into Mickey.

They don't really fuck. Ian fingers Mickey until he's writhing, biting out curses and pleas in the same breath while Ian's tongue works over his sensitive hole. Then he releases his grip on Mickey's hip and reaches around to jerk him off, stroking him for barely a minute before Mickey's coming thick and wet over Ian's hand.

Mickey goes to his knees when the aftershocks subside. He sucks a hickey to Ian's inner thigh, one to his hip, then swallows him down until Ian’s coming down his throat, the tiniest bit dripping from the corner of Mickey’s lips.

"Gotta piss you off more often Gallagher."

Ian gets drunk that night and Mickey gets married.

Days later, when Ian's lying awake in the barracks to the sound of forty other guys snoring, he thinks of it. He rolls over and presses his face into the pillow, willing away the prickling in his eyes. It was the most willing Mickey had ever been about sex, really, and Ian doesn't want to think about all the times Mickey had batted him away, muttering about  _too fucking gay._

In a cream-tiled bathroom in Chicago Mickey comes in his own hand, the memory of Ian's tongue making his guilty heart pound.

 

* * *

 

"Twenty-five dollars gets you a dance." 

It's a dare that Ian knows Mickey won't take. But Mickey's wearing a button down shirt and the least-stained jeans he owns. His hair is slicked back and when he pushes the money into the waistband of Ian's shorts his hands look clean.

Ian shoves him down, straddles him and leans close, hips rocking. Mickey smells like the same cologne a thirty year old hipster had been wearing last week when Ian had danced for him. Ian presses his mouth close to Mickey's ear and thrills at the way Mickey tenses under him.

"How's your day been so far?"

Mickey doesn't know what to do with his hands, Ian can tell. It's been months, but even so this feels wrong - it was always Mickey's legs bracketing Ian's when they were like this. He wants to lick Mickey's neck, but that might just be the drugs talking. He presses closer and feels Mickey's left leg twitch under him.

"Your family are worried about you."

Mickey's saying things Ian doesn't want to hear so he flips, turning to grind his ass against Mickey's lap. There's meant to be a no-contact policy, but Ian doesn't care, pushes his back flush to Mickey's chest and feels Mickey holding his breath for a heartbeat. Then Mickey's talking again, breath ghosting over Ian's neck as he slips down Mickey's body.

There it is - the hint of hardness at Mickey's crotch. Ian's surprised there isn't more going on downstairs. Most customers he can work into a semi with one dance, some even a full stiff by the time he's done, but not Mickey. Sure he seems interested, but Ian can remember how it had felt to have Mickey rutting into his thigh after only minutes of teasing banter. Frankly he's a little insulted.

Everything happens quickly after that. Mickey's gone, there are other laps to grind on, other thighs to trail hands down, other pills to be slipped onto his tongue. Ian doesn't feel the snow when he falls into it, but he hears Mickey's voice say his name. He's never said it like that before, low and sad.

Ian doesn't really remember it when he wakes up.

 

* * *

 

Mickey kisses him at the club and it's the antithesis of everything Ian knows.

When Ian tries to pull him in he knows Mickey is going to push back, knows Mickey won't let him. Still, it's worth a shot and might lead to a handjob in the staff bathrooms, so Ian tries anyway. The shove comes, the expletives, and Ian is unsurprised. But then he sees the way Mickey looks around the room, and Ian knows it's coming before Mickey even leans in.

Mickey kisses... gently.

Sure it's insistent, his wet tongue brushing Ian's, mouth sucking at Ian's lower lip, but that's all it is. There are no teeth like last time, no nails digging into Ian's shoulder or fingers shoving at his body. Instead there's a hand at the back of his head, too gentle for the 'FUCK' tattooed across its knuckles, and Mickey presses in close like he wants to be a part of Ian, not consume him.

Ian can't help the arm that goes around Mickey's waist, can't help but draw him closer, the angle forcing Mickey onto his toes. There has never before been a time that Ian has been so grateful for his height, for the way that Mickey's head tilts back into Ian's hand where it's running through dark hair.

When Ian gathers enough brain cells to direct Mickey to the staff bathroom his lips are already red and sensitive, but that doesn't stop his from kissing Mickey again when they get there. Kissing him into a stall and kissing him as Ian unbuttons Mickey's jeans, shoves down his own shorts. Ian kisses Mickey as they come, gasping into each other's mouths, Mickey's hands still gentle at Ian's back.

Mickey won't kiss him at the afterparty, Ian knows so he doesn't even try. But when they settle on the fold out couch, loose in their drunkenness, Mickey leans over and kisses Ian, a tiny peck that reminds him of a van and gunshots.

 

* * *

 

They go back to Mickey's laughing and bloodied.

Every other Milkovich is still at the Alibi Room and probably will be for the foreseeable future, so Ian doesn't bother shutting the bathroom door behind them. The mirror is shattered and they have to take turns peering into the undamaged side, cleaning the blood off their faces and assessing the damage. There's a particularly nasty cut in Ian's hairline that he can't quite see, so he has Mickey douse it in alcohol and clean it out. 

"If your fuckin' hair wasn't so goddamn ginger we wouldn't be having this problem, firecrotch." Mickey gripes, but still leans in close to pull a shard of glass from Ian's skin.

When it's done Mickey places a tiny, fleeting kiss there. He mutters something about there being more alcohol on Ian's head than left in the bottle, but Ian pulls him in by the backs of his thighs and tilts his own head up for more. Mickey makes a noise but leans down to kiss him anyway.

Kissing leads to groping, and in no time they're sprawled out on Mickey's bed, hands everywhere and mouths wide in grins. They're running on adrenaline, Ian's fingers shaky when he tears the condom open, but Mickey only encourages him to hurry up. Ian expects Mickey to roll onto his hands and knees, but he doesn't. Instead Mickey spreads his legs invitingly and hooks a calf around Ian's hip.

Mickey's lip is split and in danger of bleeding again, so Ian bites at his neck, sucks marks into his pale, pale skin. He doesn't realise he's talking until Mickey's moans start getting breathier, gasped out between Ian's words.

"Fuck, Mick, you're so good for me. So fucking tight, so perfect. God, you're amazing, you're  _so good_."

It's sex-crazed nonsense really, Ian's filter seemingly disabled by the recklessness pumping through his veins, his train of thought verbalised without any caution. But Mickey, _god,_ Mickey just mewls and pushes his hips back, meets Ian's every thrust. He's gasping and writhing with every moment of Ian's mumbled praise, and Ian knows why he's never said this shit before, but he wishes he had just for the look on Mickey's face.

" _Good boy_."

Suddenly Mickey's shaking and gasping, streaking their stomachs with white as he comes, untouched, beneath Ian. He whimpers when Ian pulls out, tears off the condom and tosses it away then strokes himself until he's coming over Mickey's heaving chest.

Come had never seemed sexy before, at least not to Ian, but Mickey stares down at his chest for a moment before trailing his fingers through the mess there. He slips his hand down, mixing his own come with Ian's. The memory may be gross in the morning, but Ian doesn't care, leans in to suck Mickey's wet fingers into his mouth and lick them clean.

Mickey shudders but never breaks eye contact.

 

* * *

 

 

Ian doesn't get out of bed the next morning.

 

* * *

 

It takes almost two months to balance Ian's meds, and for those two months he can't get it up.

Despite claims to the contrary, Mickey's demanding sex drive won't slow down for anything, and after walking in on him furiously jerking off in the shower for the fourth time, Ian decides to do something about it.

On one of his better days Ian borrows Mandy's laptop and goes shopping. He doesn't bother with an incognito window, frankly he can't wait for her offended screech when she goes through the history, but he keeps it fairly tame - he doesn't want her permanently traumatised. He uses Ned's credit card details because why the fuck not and chooses the most expensive shipping.

The package arrives two days later when Ian’s home alone. He barely has the will to retrieve it from the porch, leaves it there for hours before rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of Mickey's sweats. The box is sitting, untouched, on the shitty doormat and Ian gets it as far as the living room before he's curling up on the couch, ignoring the cold on his bare chest.

Ian lays there for hours.

When Mickey gets home he doesn't ask about the box, just deadlifts Ian into their bedroom and curls around him, hands like fire on Ian's frozen skin.

 

* * *

 

Mickey apologises when Ian wakes up to his erection insistent at the small of his back. Usually Mickey just tries to will it down or will disappear for a cold shower, but Ian doesn't let him this time. Instead he rolls over in Mickey's arms and presses a kiss to his neck. There's still a numbness in Ian's chest, but it's been slowly receding for the past few days, so he murmurs a 'go on' and nuzzles into Mickey's shoulder.

For a while Mickey hesitates, but eventually he pushes back the blankets and slips a hand into his boxers to jerk himself slowly, his other arm still wrapped around Ian. It does nothing for Ian really, makes him feel no different than the usual grey. Still, he puts a hand on Mickey's pelvis, scratches absently at the line of hair under his navel. When Mickey comes it's with a gasp and a shudder. Ian just burrows closer and wonders absently if he'll feel any different tomorrow.

It's almost three days later when Ian's mood finally improves and he unpacks the box, which Mickey had stashed without question in the corner of the room. That day Mickey comes home to his wife making out with her girlfriend in the kitchen and is still gagging when he opens the door to find his boyfriend sitting cross-legged on their bed surrounded by sex toys. Well, surrounded isn't quite the word. Ian has a string of anal beads by one knee and a dildo and a prostate massager by the other.

Mickey looks like his eyes are going to burst out of his head, shutting the door hastily behind him and flicking the lock.

"This mean you're feelin’ less… y’know, today?" He asks, eyes on Ian, who manages a small smile. Mickey shucks his coat and boots before crawling onto the bed, sidling up behind Ian and then moving to the side a little when he can’t quite see over Ian’s shoulder. Mickey kisses the side of Ian’s neck casually, humming when Ian leans into it a little.

“Just because I can’t get it up doesn’t mean you should have to go without.” Ian says simply. Mickey frowns, running a hand up Ian’s back and across his neck, turning Ian to face him.

“I don’t mind. I mean, I do mind if I can’t get off, but I’m okay with just jerking it in the bathroom. Not that I’m not into this, that’s not what I’m saying-“ He pauses, growling a little in frustration. The woman at the clinic had been working on Mickey’s communication skills, mainly for dealing with Ian when he’s low, but even so, most of Mickey’s talents lay in the non-verbal. “Look. I’m just saying, like… no pressure, okay? You don’t have to worry about me getting my rocks off or anything, just- just focus on you.”

Ian really does smile then, giving Mickey a brief, closed-mouth kiss that has him making that strange _I’m happy but I’m hiding it_ face. “I want to, sometimes, even though I can’t get it up.” He says, Mickey biting his lip and nodding. “I just figure these’ll make it easier.”

Mickey nods, places a hand on Ian’s thigh and leans in to kiss his neck again. It’s not explicitly sexual, Ian knows Mickey’s just feeling things out, testing the waters. When Ian does little more than tilt his head to the side Mickey pulls back, laying a final kiss to Ian’s freckled shoulder. “Not tonight.” He says quietly, as if to himself, and goes back to looking down at the toys before them. Then he smirks into Ian’s shoulder and points to the anal beads. “We’re starting with those though.”

A few days later Ian’s moving into one of his highs, which the new meds keep suppressed enough to leave him upbeat but a little off-kilter, and Mickey makes good on his intentions. Ian has him on his hands and knees, Mickey panting into his pillow while Ian spends the better part of half an hour teasing him, slowly pushing the beads in and out of his ass. Mickey’s almost sobbing, lube dripping down over his balls and along his straining cock, mixing with his pre-come to stain a damp patch onto the sheets.

“Fuck, _Gallagher_ , c’mon.” He grunts as Ian presses the largest bead into his hole. Ian knows how hot the stretch of Mickey’s rim is despite the way his stupid fucking body refuses to respond. Rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s hole, he leans in to lick at it, ignoring the tasteless lube. Mickey’s hips jolt and he mewls. “ _Please_ , Ian, I need to come.”

Ian responds by reaching around to pump Mickey's dripping cock while he slowly begins to work the beads out of Mickey’s ass, the bright red silicone a stark contrast with his pale skin. For every bead Ian teases him, pulling it until Mickey’s rim is stretched around the widest past then pushing it back in, only slipping the bead out completely when Mickey whimpers.

Further up the bed Mickey is trying to muffle his keening with the pillow, but the way his hips jerk and thighs tremble is enough to tell Ian how close he is. There are still three beads in him when Mickey comes, whole body shaking with it as Ian continues to jerk his oversensitive cock. His hand is wet and sticky, but Ian doesn’t draw it away until Mickey reaches down to bat at him, near-sobs coming from the pillow he’s buried his face in.

For a few moments Ian lets him just shiver, running his clean hand up and down Mickey’s back, before reaching down to slowly work the remaining beads out of Mickey’s ass. Mickey whimpers and jerks away, but Ian just kisses along his thigh, pulling the beads free slowly and quietly enjoying the desperate, pained noises Mickey makes. Soon after Mickey rolls over to avoid the wet spot, his face and chest flushed. Ian can feel his own limp cock against his thigh, frustration boiling in his gut. He wipes his hand angrily on Mickey’s dirty t-shirt and tosses it away, but Mickey grins languidly and pulls Ian against his side, still panting.

“Can we try the prostate thing next?” Mickey asks breathlessly, and despite his irritation Ian grins.

 

* * *

 

When his meds finally balance out Ian’s libido comes back with a vengeance.

Mickey’s more than happy, however living in a house with his wife, his wife’s girlfriend, his (maybe) child, his sister and whomever his sister is fucking at the time does make things a little difficult. Between work and Ian’s regular visits to the clinic they hardly get any time alone, and most days they have to settle for sloppy blowjobs, hands down each other’s pants in the early morning or Ian lazily rimming Mickey in the shower. Mickey’s not so fussed by the third option, but he really just wants Ian to fuck him.

He’s on the couch with a beer and a blunt watching reruns of Maury when Svetlana wanders into the hall. Whatshername, the girlfriend, is in tow, the two of them bundling up in scarves and coats. Ian’s making noise in the kitchen, probably cleaning something.

“We go out tonight. Fiona has baby, we stay at hotel.” Svetlana says as she pulls on that stupid fluffy hat.

“What, so that you can have even louder fuckin’ sex than usual?” Mickey gripes as he takes a mouthful of beer, frowning in disgust as Svetlana reaches out to push whatshernames’ tits up in her bra.

“No, so we can fuck where beds do smell like dirty socks and penis sweat.” She throws back, and Mickey barely has time to flip her off before they’re out the door. He grunts and takes a long drag from the blunt, then finishes the beer and tosses the bottle into a pile of dirty clothes so it doesn’t smash. Hearing Ian wandering out, Mickey spreads his legs in an attempt to look as fuckable as possible.

“We alone?” Ian smirks as he walks over in nothing but sweat pants. Mickey doesn’t answer because a) Ian knows they are and b) Ian’s already moving closer, straddling Mickey’s hips and settling onto his lap. Which, okay, Mickey isn’t used to because usually he’s the one in Ian’s lap. Like that morning, when he’d crawled over his naked boyfriend and ground his ass over Ian’s cock until he woke up, grinning and thrusting up against him until loud, Russian sex noises had totally spoiled the mood. Now, though, the house is empty and Mickey takes a final drag from the joint before he leans in to bite at Ian’s collarbone, the smoke wafting out against Ian’s skin. He would have loved to shotgun the weed, but Ian’s doctor has said mixing meds was a definite no.

Ian grunts a little and reaches down to tug at Mickey’s shirt, pulling it over his head before letting him go back to sucking a mark against Ian’s clavicle. In return he thumbs at Mickey’s nipples, earning him a bite and a sharp thrust of Mickey’s hips. He responds by pushing down, beginning to move his hips, circling and gyrating over Mickey’s lap, cock hard in his sweats where it’s pressed to Mickey’s stomach. Mickey knows these moves, has seen Ian use them on countless guys in the club, and is quickly detaching himself from Ian’s collarbone, leaning back to raise a brow at him.

“Quit it.” He says, then bats Ian’s hands away when they pinch perfectly at his nipples. The surprised moan he let out hadn’t really sounded authoritative. “Hey, your dick’s getting in me tonight regardless, so save your seduction for the old freaks creamin’ their jeans for a second look from you. I ain’t into it.” For some reason it makes Ian grin, but he stands up anyway, moving just out of Mickey’s reach. He keeps the smirk as he runs a hand down his chest to grasp his own cock through the sweats, squeezing it a little while Mickey’s mouth goes dry.

“What are you into, Mick?” He teases, and Mickey doesn’t even think before he says it.

“ _Fuck_ , hold me down.”

For a heartbeat he’s shocked, but then he actually sees Ian’s cock twitch in his pants and Ian’s grabbing him by the wrist, manhandling Mickey until he has him pressed to a wall. Even through their pants Mickey can feel Ian’s cock, hard and hot against his ass while his own pelvis is flat against the wall. He struggles a little, but only so that Ian holds him tighter.

“You want that, Mickey?” Ian asks lowly, breathing it into Mickey’s ear before leaning down to bite and suck at his neck. Hickeys are something the both love, but Ian gets especially into marking Mickey up when he’s feeling possessive. Mickey can’t help the way he bares his throat, pushes his ass back against Ian’s hips.

“Fuck, yeah.”

It’s a miracle they make it to the bed, Ian seeming fairly content with just rutting against Mickey’s ass in the hallway, pulling away from his neck every now and again to admire the bruises already blossoming there. Eventually he drags Mickey into their room, the two of them wrestling a little as they get each other’s clothes off, biting and grabbing playfully at whatever skin they can reach. Ian pins him, holding Mickey’s hands firmly above his head, but Mickey squirms until their cocks align, Ian’s pre-come dripping down over Mickey’s hip. They both groan, Ian taking the time to rut against Mickey tortuously slow while he sucks another hickey to his throat.

“C’mon, firecrotch.” Mickey grunts, but Ian only responds by taking both of his wrists in one broad hand and reaching the other down to tweak Mickey’s nipple. “ _Oh,_ fuck you.” He huffs, feeling the way Ian grins into his skin, but this time it works and Ian scoots over to the side, fumbling for lube. When he moves back his fingers are cold and wet, teasing at Mickey’s rim before slipping easily into him, Mickey used to relaxing himself by now. Ian continues to hump Mickey’s hip, pre-come streaking Mickey’s pale skin while Ian’s fingers flex around his wrists.

“I’m good, just fuck me.” Mickey bites out eventually. Ian smirks as he kneels then flips Mickey, pulling his hips up just enough to put his ass on display. The wet fingers are gone, replaced the head of Ian’s thick cock at Mickey’s rim, teasing through the lube still slick around his hole. Mickey pushes his hips back, trying to encourage Ian to _get the fuck in him_ and receiving a sharp swat to the ass for his efforts. That only makes Mickey moan embarrassingly loud, Ian laughing breathlessly before steadying himself and pushing into Mickey at a glacial pace.

The stretch as amazing, Mickey having sorely missed how full he feels with Ian inside him, and he’s infinitely grateful that he finally got checked at the clinic so Ian could fuck him bare. Without the condom he can feel the heat of Ian’s cock, the thick vein on the underside, and he groans as Ian bottoms out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Ian gasps, pulling out until just the head of his cock remains in Mickey, “Always so good for me.” Then he thrusts back in sharply, Mickey’s head dropping between his shoulders as he moans. He’d almost forgotten how Ian could jolt his whole body with a single thrust and can’t help the low, breathy grunts he lets out as Ian begins to fuck him properly, hands bruising on Mickey’s hips.

For his part Mickey just pushes back into every thrust, clenches around Ian as he moves back out. Behind him Ian groans lowly, moving one hand around to part Mickey’s cheeks and watch how Mickey’s rim stretches around his cock, still glistening with lube. He runs a finger around the sensitive flesh then trails it down Mickey’s perineum and over his balls, tugging and squeezing at his sack. Mickey grunts encouragingly. It’s been a while since they’ve fucked like this and he feels dangerously close to coming the second Ian’s fingertips brush his cock.

“Thought you were gonna – _fuck_ – hold me down?” He grits out when Ian gives him a few sharp, quick tugs. He clenches down hard when Ian has the nerve to laugh, the sound cutting off into a stupid gurgled moan.

“God,” Ian gasps, slowing his thrusts to knee Mickey’s legs further apart, “You’re so fucking needy.” He says fondly, Mickey’s ready snark back that he’s _horny not fucking needy_. Mickey cuts off with a gasp when Ian’s plasters his chest to Mickey’s back, hands coming up to close over his wrists. It’s perfect, and with Ian’s height he can hold Mickey’s wrists above his head and bite kisses to the back of his neck at the same time. “You’re hot when you’re desperate.” Ian breathes, thrusting hard and rapid into him, Mickey too busy moaning to argue.

Pressed together so tightly there’s barely any room under them, and every time Ian snaps his hips down Mickey’s get pushed against the mattress, the friction amazing on his cock. Still, it’s not until Ian shifts forwards a little and finds the perfect angle that Mickey begins to moan, Ian’s cockhead brushing over his prostate with every other thrust. He pushes his ass back, gasping out little moans each time Ian pushes into him, the pleasure amazing. Still, it’s not enough, and he tells Ian just that.

“Oh, _fuck,_ I need your hand.” He begs, loving the way Ian’s sharp thrusts make his body jolt. “ _Please_ , Ian, I need to come, gimme’ your hand.” Mickey would do it himself, but Ian’s still pinning his wrists to the bed, probably hoping to make him beg. It obviously worked. Behind him Ian groans lowly, biting down on Mickey’s shoulder even as he snakes a hand under them to fist Mickey’s cock. It’s tight and fast and fucking hot, Mickey’s orgasm racing towards him, and he can’t help squeezing his eyes shut, letting out a pathetic keening noise. Above him Ian’s left hand moves suddenly, slipping from Mickey’s wrist to his hand, fingers closing over the tattoos there. Ian squeezes Mickey’s hand gently, and that’s all it takes to have him coming harder than he has in weeks, stickiness coating the bed and his stomach as he gasps through his orgasm.

Behind him Ian’s moaning, the way Mickey’s body clenches through the aftershocks amazing around his cock, and he thrusts in hard before he’s coming too, tensing where he’s plastered to Mickey’s back. For a long while they stay like that, Ian gently stroking Mickey’s cock and making him shudder until he goes soft, Ian’s breathing heavy at the back of Mickey’s neck. He places a lingering kiss to Mickey’s shoulder before pushing up and off, Mickey not even caring as his own hips drop into the wet spot. It’s his come anyway.

He whines though when Ian pulls out, again when Ian slips two fingers into Mickey to feel his own come as it drips slowly from his body. Mickey doesn’t even know Ian’s leaned in until he’s lapping at Mickey’s hole, the sensation altogether too much, and he jerks his hips away. Ian’s come is still dripping along his perineum, but Mickey doesn’t move, knowing Ian will clean them up.

He does so after a few minutes, getting a damp cloth from the bathroom and wiping them down before shoving Mickey so that he rolls out of the wet patch. They couldn’t be fucked changing the sheets, so Ian just cleans the worst of the mess away with the cloth and leaves it to dry. He moves back to Mickey.

“You’re gross.” Ian teases, smacking Mickey on the thigh as he rubs drying come off Mickey’s stomach. He’s too lax to even try hitting Ian back, so he flips him off instead.

“Says the one who was gonna lick his own spunk out of my ass.”

Ian just snorts and disappears to dispose of the towel, leaving Mickey to stretch and scratch happily over his stomach. When Ian returns he clambers onto the bed grinning, grabbing at Mickey’s pliant limbs and rearranging him until Ian can curl around his back, one hand draped over his hip.

“Do we really have to cuddle?” Mickey grumbles out of token protest, but he feels Ian smile against the back of his neck as he pulls the sheets over them.

“Shut up, you love being the little spoon.” Ian responds, kissing the few bite marks he’s left on Mickey’s shoulders and neck. Mickey smirks.

“Never said I didn’t.”

Smiling, Ian slips his hand into Mickey's, his fingers taking up the spaces between each letter of 'FUCK'. The fact that Mickey lets him, even goes so far as to squeeze his hand, is only testament to how far they've come from stolen fucks in the Kash'n'Grab store room. Ian noses into the dark hair at the nape of Mickey's neck and snuggles closer.

"Round two in about an hour?" He suggests mildly.

"You fuckin' bet." Mickey responds, and Ian can hear the grin in his voice.


End file.
